


All Of This Has Happened Before

by pirateygoodness



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-06
Updated: 2010-07-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 18:50:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9251093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirateygoodness/pseuds/pirateygoodness
Summary: Sometimes, after you save the world, you get to go to a tavern and have a few pints. Sometimes, while you're there, you meet a hot tavern wench, and she turns out to be someone special.Post-2.22, "Tears.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Archived from Livejournal.

There are few better justifications for a hot meal and a soft bed, than defeating the Keeper of the Underworld and preserving life as they know it. 

Zedd has always been the one to caution them, to suggest sleeping in the woods and staying off the beaten trail, but tonight, even he cannot find reason to put off a night in an inn, with food that none of them has hunted themselves and roof overhead and as much ale as any of them could want. When he smiles, one hand on Kahlan's shoulder and the other on Richard's, and suggests that they spend the night in the nearest tavern at Bridgewater, Cara cannot help but feel grateful. 

When Richard and Kahlan clasp hands, drawing close and smiling at each other with unmistakable intent in their eyes, Cara is doubly grateful.

*

At the tavern, they eat together - Kahlan and Richard on one side of the table, and Cara with Zedd on the other. The meal is a revelation: thick lamb stew brimming with fresh vegetables and spices, and fresh bread warm from the oven, all cooked by talented hands. Their food is served hot, by a slim, light-haired tavern maid in a pink dress, rather than lukewarm around the campfire preceded by hours of swearing and arguing. 

Zedd eats like a man who has been starved for days, hunching forward to bring himself closer to his plate, compensating for his height. Kahlan and Richard eat one-handed, arms around each other's waists. Since they sealed the rift, Kahlan has become more overt with her affection for Richard. It almost seems, to Cara, like she hasn't stopped touching him. She's subtle - brushing her fingertips across his arm, or nudging his thigh with her knee - but every time she does so, she smiles. It's hard not to appreciate her excitement, brimming to the surface, at being able to touch Richard freely, however she pleases. 

Richard eats with his spoon in the wrong hand, smiling like a child in turn. Every so often, he leans over to press a kiss to Kahlan's shoulder, making her blush. 

Cara eats slowly, enjoying the meal for what it is, and tries not to glance across the table too often. 

As the meal comes to a close, and the tavern maid brings out wine for the four of them, Richard's subtle, chaste touches turn less subtle, less chaste. It is not long before he excuses himself and Kahlan, the pair of them blushing to their ears and beaming as they retire to his room. 

Zedd, for his part, tries to make conversation with Cara. He is sweet, in his own way, and so when he asks her about her plans, and her dreams, and her opinions on the wine, she smiles and answers as patiently as she can. Halfway through their second flagon, he begins to grow drowsy. By the end of his fourth cup, he is asleep in his seat, snoring gently against the wall. 

Cara slouches, staring into her own cup, and thinks about what she will do with the rest of her evening. She is not ready to venture up to her room - the one that shares a wall with Richard's - just yet. 

There are men in this tavern - men who saw her arrive with the Seeker, and so would not begrudge her a night of easy release. Yet, somehow, the very idea of speaking with a strange man, seducing him, makes her feel tired. 

For a brief moment, she finds herself wishing that Kahlan were there. It is a thought that she tamps down almost instantly. Kahlan is with Richard, and they deserve nothing more than that time together. 

The tavern maid comes by once more, and asks Cara if she would like another drink. It takes a moment, in the darkness of the room, but as the woman leans closer, Cara realizes that she is blushing. Cara watches her more closely, thoughtfully, as her eyes dart to Cara's neckline and then back to her face. Cara raises an eyebrow.

Caught, the girl blushes even more.

"What's your name?" Cara says, watching as the girl's mouth curls upward, shyly. 

"Dahlia," she says, eyes dipping towards her feet. 

"Dahlia," Cara repeats, letting the word roll over her tongue. She knew a Dahlia, once, when she was a girl. "I would like another drink, very much."

The woman leaves, a quiet smile playing at the edges of her mouth. As she turns, Cara watches, taking in the confidence of the woman's hips, the careful sway as she keeps her arms steady, holding drinks high and never spilling. She is slight, but there is strength in her, the sort of strength that Cara could learn to enjoy. 

Cara finds herself reconsidering the possibilities of the evening.

"Dahlia," Cara says, as the girl returns with a mug of ale. 

She places her hand, gloved, on Dahlia's bare arm. Dahlia stares at it with something akin to wonder. "Yes?" she says.

Cara takes a breath, quelling a sudden rush of nerves. "As you can see, my companion -" She tilts her head towards the wizard. "Has overindulged."

"Indeed," Dahlia says, glancing at Zedd, clearly sizing him up. "Does he always sleep so loudly?"

Cara nudges him with her free hand, none too gently. He shifts in his chair, his snores quieting slightly, but does not wake.

Dahlia smiles, curious in a calculated way that Cara cannot help but admire. "If I were a wizard traveling with a Mord'Sith, I'd sleep with one eye open."

"Zedd trusts me," Cara finds herself saying, as though any of this is the business of a common tavern girl.

"He doesn't question your loyalty?" Dahlia presses, eyes so wide and guileless, they can only be dangerous. Cara understands, suddenly, that Dahlia is anything but innocent.

"He has no reason to," Cara says. She suddenly finds it difficult to look at Dahlia - instead, she dips her head to take a drink.

When she lifts her head again, it is to the sight of Dahlia smiling down at her. There is shyness in the set of her shoulders, the curve of her lips, but she does not seem intimidated by Cara's leather, or the agiels resting at her side. Instead, she looks almost intrigued, as she asks, "Would you like me to keep you company?"

Cara tilts her head for a moment - she'd half-forgotten what they were discussing, to begin with. Dahlia blushes, just enough, and Cara finds herself distracted by how much she wants her. 

"Since your companion appears to be asleep," Dahlia says. 

Cara tilts the corners of her mouth, barely a smile. "I would enjoy that."

*

Dahlia's company proves to be more engaging than Cara had expected. After a few moments of quiet conversation, Cara discovers that she is more than a lovely face and slim hips. She talks - about her ambitions, the state of the roads, the gossip from the kitchen - but not too much, and when Cara wishes to be silent, Dahlia is calm and patient. As they talk, Cara does not miss the way that Dahlia's eyes slide from her face, down to her chest and back up again. She is interested. 

Dahlia waits until Cara has emptied her mug, and then stands up - to see to the other patrons, she says with a smile and a wink that imply very little interest in the other patrons at all. When she returns, it's with a mug of ale in one hand, for Cara, and another for herself. 

When Cara raises an eyebrow, Dahlia's answering smile is almost conspiratorial. She sits on the same side of the table as Cara, nudging Cara's hip with her own until she slides across the bench, making room. They talk for a little longer, Dahlia's skirts bunched against Cara's leather, her thigh so close that Cara can feel its warmth. 

When Dahlia places her hand on Cara's arm, unafraid and smiling, Cara is genuinely surprised. People - ordinary people - do not touch Mord'Sith. Not without being touched first, and not if they can help it. "You're not afraid of me," Cara says, half-statement, half-question. 

"No," Dahlia replies, calmly. It is clear that she trusts Cara, but there is consideration behind her eyes - as though her trust is not blind, but well-measured and thoughtful. Cara does not know what to make of this woman. 

"Why?"

Dahlia glances away, looking at her hands. She seems flustered, and when she speaks it is to change the subject. "You must be tired," she says, gazing into her ale. "You've had a long day, traveling all the way from the Pillars of Creation."

Cara nods, feeling anything but. She could press the subject, coax Dahlia into explaining why she is so trusting, but she chooses to put it out of her mind. Tonight is a night to indulge. "I am," she says. She brushes her hand against Dahlia's, leather on bare skin. "But I'm not sure I'll be able to find my room. The inn is very large."

It is an invitation, and an unsubtle one at that. Dahlia smiles, and her hand presses lightly against Cara's thigh as she stands, offering her hand. "I could show you?"

*

Dahlia leads her up the stairs and down a dim, candlelit hallway to the room that Cara remembers very well, having placed her things there hours before. Beside it is the door to Richard and Kahlan's room, blessedly silent. 

"Well," Dahlia says, suddenly shy, looking more like a girl than a woman. "I hope that you can find your way from here."

Cara glances at the door, directly in front of her. "I believe I can."

Dahlia smiles, hopefully. She is lingering, leaning against the wall and watching Cara with expectation in her eyes. Cara lets her wait for a moment, then a moment more, before she reaches out to wrap her hand around the back of Dahlia's head. When she pulls her close, kissing with eagerness that comes from being denied the luxury of a woman, for months, Dahlia gasps and pulls her closer. Her eagerness only serves to encourage Cara, and before she realizes what she is doing, Dahlia's back hits the wall with an audible thud, Cara's hips pinning her in place.

She is trying to be gentle. 

Most women - indeed, most men - are unused to kissing the way that Cara does. Mord'Sith have become accustomed to expressing affection more forcefully than ordinary people, and Cara has grown to understand that sometimes there is a place for gentleness. 

When Dahlia's back hits the wall, Cara feels a grin against her mouth, and she begins to return Cara's kiss with an unexpected fierceness. Dahlia, apparently, has little use for gentleness. She pushes back with her hips, breathing harshly against Cara's mouth, already eager for more. When she kisses Cara, it's demanding, with one hand pressing against Cara's jaw, keeping her close.

As they kiss, Dahlia leans to the side, resting her weight on the door until it swings open.

Dahlia is not tall, but she is taller than Cara - just enough that when she leans, Cara is forced to take a step back, and then another. She presses at Cara with her hips, walking them back until they're inside Cara's room, Cara's calves pressed to the edge of the bed. Dahlia shoves, playfully, at Cara's shoulders, breaking their kiss only to give her the sort of smile that Cara would never have expected to see on a tavern maid from Bridgewater. 

Cara allows herself to tumble back, hitting the bed - softer than she expected, and she realizes only then that she has forgotten what lying in a bed is supposed to feel like - while Dahlia steps away to close the door. Cara sets her agiels on the nightstand, in anticipation. 

There is a candle in the room, already lit by one of the other serving girls, and it casts shadows across Dahlia's face as she turns back towards Cara. She stands at the side of the bed, looking down. That smile is playing across her lips, once again. Her hair is mussed, half of it still tied back and the rest falling across her shoulders, down her back, framing her face. It makes Cara want to take her hair in both hands and tug. 

As she moves onto the bed, skirts bunching around her hips, Cara feels a sudden, sharp sense of need, throbbing between her thighs. Dahlia straddles Cara's body, knees resting on either side of her hips, and the weight of her on Cara's belly makes Cara smile, wide and hungry. She places her hands at the small of Dahlia's back, feeling soft, well-worn linen and the heat of skin just below. "You're sure you're not afraid?" she asks, one last time. 

Dahlia shakes her head, hands already at the stays of her corset, loosening them with practiced hands. 

Experimentally, Cara shifts her hips, rolling them both until Dahlia is beneath her, pinned at the shoulders and hips by Cara's body. "This leather means I'm a Mord'Sith."

Dahlia smiles, tracing a line down Cara's leather, her touch so soft that Cara can hardly feel it. Her hand stills at the edge of Cara's collar, between her breasts, and she shakes her head again. The look in her eyes is almost faraway as she hooks her finger into Cara's leather and tugs her close for a kiss. "It may," Dahlia says, mouth brushing against Cara's. There is defiance in her tone, strength, and once again Cara finds herself wondering about this woman. "But you wouldn't hurt me."

Cara leans in, biting at Dahlia's mouth and then moving lower, kissing the tops of Dahlia's breasts. As she kisses, her hands are busy, slipping her gloves off so that she can slide bare hands along Dahlia's legs, lifting the hem of her skirt. Dahlia gasps at her touch, the feel of Cara's skin against her own, and Cara finds herself consumed by the sensation. She notices the way that Dahlia tenses, but she is too distracted to realize what it means until Dahlia is shifting her weight, rolling Cara onto her back. 

If Cara wished, she could pin Dahlia to the bed, both arms above her head, and take her without any effort at all. But Dahlia's insistence, the way she plays at taking control, is almost sweet. The way that she smiles down at Cara, triumphantly, tugs at something behind Cara's chest. 

She allows it, for now.

*

Cara wakes the next morning to Dahlia rolling over in the bed beside her. She is naked, her skirts discarded on the floor the night before, and Cara cannot help but appreciate the lines of her body, the curve of her back and the swell of her breasts as she moves. Cara feels lazy, sated. She allows herself the luxury of waking slowly, turning to watch Dahlia as she rises from the bed and wanders the room, searching for her clothes. 

Dahlia works with her back to Cara, collecting her shift and corset and skirts. It's not until her shift is halfway over her head that she turns toward the bed, noticing Cara's gaze on her. "Oh," she says, smoothing her shift over her hips and turning bright red. "You're awake."

Cara sits, feeling the slightest tug of stiffness in her muscles as she moves, a reminder of her exertion the night before. The sheet falls, pooling around her waist, and she does not move to cover herself. Instead she watches, as Dahlia's blush grows even deeper. "I am."

"I thought you would be sleeping." Dahlia keeps speaking, even as Cara raises an eyebrow in reply. "I'm needed in the kitchen."

Cara stands, watching as Dahlia's eyes grow wide. She is completely undressed, and as she walks across the room, she feels a small thrill of satisfaction at Dahlia's eyes roaming across her body, enjoying her even now. "I understand," Cara says, cupping Dahlia's cheek with her palm. 

Dahlia sighs, as though this is difficult, and leans in to kiss Cara with a sweetness that is unfamiliar, reminding Cara of a time in her youth that she does not wish to remember. "I really do have to leave," Dahlia says, all at once in a rush against Cara's mouth. "Otherwise I'd stay, I swear I -"

Cara quiets her with another kiss, more forceful and much less sweet. Dahlia settles, at least outwardly, but she is still watching Cara with wide eyes. As though she is trying to remember all of her. It plucks at something deep within Cara.

On impulse, she takes the corset from Dahlia's hands, gently, and holds it out for her. 

"Here," she says. 

Dahlia nods, holding Cara's gaze. Slowly, the tension in her shoulders eases, until she is able to step forward, into the corset. She stands patiently as Cara threads the laces for her, tightening gently at first, and then more forcefully. She does not understand quite why she wishes to give Dahlia this intimacy. The privilege of being dressed by a Mord'Sith is not something to be shared lightly. 

But she finds that the act of it calms her, allows the ache behind her ribs to settle. As she works, Dahlia watches her, almost unblinking. Her breath comes more quickly with every brush of Cara's hands against her shift, and when Cara finishes, settling her palms at Dahlia's hips, Dahlia releases a long, shuddering breath. Cara finds it difficult to resist the urge to pull her closer, to take one last kiss from her. 

As Cara leans up, her mouth brushing against Dahlia's, she feels a whimper against her lips and Dahlia's hands in her hair, pulling her close. Cara tugs Dahlia's hips to press against her own, in reply, keeping her near. 

When Dahlia pulls away, cheeks pink and breath coming quickly, it is an effort for Cara to let her go. "I understand," Cara says, and Dahlia nods. 

"Are you staying another night?" Dahlia says, angling her mouth towards Cara's once more. Cara thinks about the sweetness of her, the lines of her body beneath her shift, and finds herself tempted once again. 

"I don't know," Cara replies, because she cannot bring herself to tell the truth - that they have not spent more than a night, anywhere, in weeks.

Dahlia closes her eyes, turning away from Cara to put on her dress. She understands, too. 

*

Cara walks downstairs for the morning meal not long after Dahlia leaves her, feeling tired in a way that she should not. 

She is the first to arrive, and when she takes a seat at the table she sat at the night before - Zedd still snoring gently in his seat, slumped against the wall - Dahlia notices from her place behind the bar. She blushes, smiling gently, and it somehow eases Cara's fatigue. 

Dahlia walks over, unasked, and brings Cara a mug filled with tea and strong-smelling herbs. As she sets it on the table, she rests her hand on Cara's arm, as though for balance. 

Cara smiles, and Dahlia looks away, suddenly shy. "Good morning," she says, as though they have not seen each other since the evening before.

"Good morning," Cara answers, letting her fingertips trace a path along Dahlia's arm. 

Dahlia looks back to Cara, invitation behind her eyes, and Cara thinks, idly, about pressing her onto the table and taking her once more. She angles her head up, almost expectantly, and Dahlia's lips curl into a smile in reply. 

"Did you sleep well?" Dahlia says, tracing shapes along Cara's forearm with her thumb. 

"I did," Cara says, gaze lingering on Dahlia's mouth, the swell of her breasts, until Dahlia turns away blushing. 

"Enjoy your tea," Dahlia says, obviously flustered. 

"I will," Cara replies, but her words are to Dahlia's back, as she leaves to busy herself in the kitchen. 

 

*

Cara sips her tea in peace, listening thoughtfully to Zedd's gentle snoring beside her, until Richard and Kahlan come downstairs for their meal.

They arrive together - of course - holding hands and blushing as though it is the morning after their wedding night. Richard is beaming, steps slow and lazy like a man who has finally satisfied himself after a long period of wanting. Cara's hands curl into fists at the thought of that, although she is not quite sure why. 

Kahlan is smiling in her own right, looking at Cara shyly as she sits across from her at the table, taking the seat she had the night before. She is a schoolgirl with the first boy she's ever kissed, blushing when he whispers into her ear and smiling at every careless touch across her waist, her hips. Cara feels a sharp sense of loss, irrational and useless, every time Richard makes Kahlan smile with his hands. She is glad she was not in a position to hear anything of them, the evening before. 

"Good morning, Cara," Richard says, arm resting low on Kahlan's waist. 

He speaks as though it is the best of all possible mornings, a beautiful day to bookend what can only have been a beautiful evening before it, and Cara does not understand why the first feeling that rises in her chest is resentment. She knows that Richard and Kahlan have longed for this day, since well before they first crossed paths with Cara, and that they deserve nothing more than this time with each other. Still, when Cara finally summons the strength to reply, "Good morning," her voice is tired. 

"Did you sleep well, Cara?" Kahlan asks, eyes wide with real concern that makes Cara feel guilty, at once, for ever begrudging her happiness. 

Cara almost laughs. It is then that she notices Dahlia, over Richard's shoulder. She is watching Cara from the bar, a smile on her face, and her gaze makes Cara feel lighter. "Very well, thank you." Her eyes meet Dahlia's, just for a moment, and suddenly she is not tired at all. She glances back to Richard. "I trust that you and Kahlan slept well?" 

Richard opens his mouth, clearly about to speak for the pair of them. Kahlan blushes to her ears, looking away - as though the fact that she and Richard were together the night before is any sort of secret. "My sleep was excellent," he finally says, allowing Kahlan time to regain her composure. The look in his eyes, as he speaks to Cara, is companionable - as though they are great friends, as though she understands exactly what he means when he says _sleep_. 

"As was mine," Kahlan says, her cheeks still bright. 

And then Kahlan smiles at her, conspiratorial and shy, as though she has much to tell Cara about her feelings for Richard, once they are alone - things that Cara neither wants nor needs to hear.

Zedd wakes, just then, with a start and a loud yawn. He looks around, at once surprised that it is morning and surprised that he has slept the night in a chair, after spending so many of his hard-earned coins on a soft bed. He begins to grumble - about his back, the fact that the cooks have yet to finish preparing their breakfast, about how Cara should have roused him and put him to bed - and it is an odd sort of comfort. Zedd is still Zedd, and Richard and Kahlan still bear his complaints with affectionate teasing, and Cara is still wanted amongst them. Cara feels that things are as they should be, once again. 

The meal comes, and Dahlia's smile is only for Cara as she brings plates of eggs with cured ham and fresh bread. It is miles above Richard and Zedd's rabbit stew, and Cara finds herself wishing that they never had to leave, if only so that she could continue to eat this well. 

Halfway through the meal, around a mouthful of eggs, Zedd announces that they will be leaving for Thornvale that afternoon - a stepping stone on their way to Aydindril. The way he speaks, it seems as though they will at least spend the night in Thornvale once they arrive, and Cara begrudges the four day journey slightly less. As Zedd asks the innkeeper for supplies, Cara quietly offers to settle their meal with the tavern maid. Richard makes a joke, something about soft beds making Cara more pleasant, and she ignores him. 

As Cara approaches the bar, Dahlia ducks her head, looking away, shyly. Cara smiles, as she rests her elbows on the bar. "I'm to settle payment," Cara says, voice soft and regretful in a way that she did not realize she felt. 

Dahlia's shoulders slump, just slightly. "Of course."

As Cara hands over the coins, Dahlia rests her hand on Cara's arm. Cara looks up into wide, dark eyes, watching her with an intensity that she was not anticipating. "Where are you headed?" Dahlia asks. 

"Thornvale," Cara says, unable to keep the disappointment from her tone. She would have liked to stay one night longer. 

"I could join you?" Dahlia asks, eyes wide and serious. 

All Cara can think to do is watch her, curious, waiting to hear more. She had not thought of bringing this woman with her - she cannot fight, she is not used to the danger that seems to find Richard wherever they go. But Dahlia squares her shoulders, determination in her eyes, and Cara begins to think of all the ways she has been surprised by her, thus far. "I'm meant for bigger things than Bridgewater," Dahlia says. "Only as far as Thornvale, or as close to it as you'll have me."

Cara considers for a long minute. She looks back at Richard, thinking of the teasing she will endure if she announces that the tavern maid will be joining them. But Dahlia's hand tightens around her arm, gentle yet insistent, and she wonders if, perhaps, Richard's teasing will be worth enduring.

"I have a horse," Dahlia says, as though it's important. "I won't be trouble."

Cara relents. She nods, once, and Dahlia breaks into a smile, wide and pretty. "Thank you."

When she returns to the table, Richard and Kahlan and Zedd are looking at her expectantly, and she regrets her decision almost immediately. She stands taller, instinctively, and crosses her arms. "The barmaid wishes for passage to the next town. I thought we could help her."

Richard smiles, the same wide, eager one he gives to children and lame horses and dogs. "I don't see why not," he says. Kahlan glances at him, then Cara, smiling as though something is terribly funny. 

Cara fists her hands, resisting the urge to hit them both.

*

Zedd has negotiated fresh horses and supplies for the four of them, and Dahlia, true to her word, has her own horse and things for her journey. As they ready to leave, Richard comes to Cara, clapping a hand to her shoulder as she saddles her horse. 

"You know," he says, with that same smile on his face. "That was awfully kind of you, agreeing to take in that girl from the tavern." 

Cara bristles. "Dahlia," she says, quietly, gaze fixed to her horse's belly as she tightens the cinch. "Her name is Dahlia."

Richard's smile grows wider, something Cara thought impossible. "She seems nice."

"I suppose," Cara says. Her horse is saddled, and she moves to its head, loosening the rope halter and reaching for the bridle. 

"Who would have thought," he says, following. "Cara, interrupting her quest to help someone in need."

"It's not an _interruption_ ," she says, irritated beyond words. "She's going in the same direction. What was I supposed to do, turn her away?"

"Alright," he says, smiling at her like she's someone to be coddled. Serving the Lord Rahl is, on occasion, like having the most irritating kind of older brother, and she has never felt it more acutely than she does now.

"You're the one who's always telling me to be nice," she says, so sharply that her horse steps to the side, made nervous. 

"It's fine, Cara," he says, squeezing her shoulder as though she is upset out of embarrassment. "Like I said, she seems nice."

Cara fists her hands in the straps of her horse's bridle, breathing slowly, until he leaves her. 

*

The rest of the ride is far more bearable, and Cara begins to warm to her decision. Allowing Dahlia to join them means that, while Richard and Kahlan draw their horses almost dangerously close, stirrups bumping together, Cara has someone to speak with besides Zedd. 

Things will be different, when Dahlia leaves them at Thornvale. 

As the sun begins to set, they settle on a place to make camp for the night. Richard and Cara tend to the horses, Cara brushing hers and Dahlia's and Zedd's until they shine, possibly the cleanest horses in all the Midlands. When she finishes, her arms are weak with overuse, but the knot behind her chest - the one that seems to grow tighter, every time Richard and Kahlan lean close and smile - has eased. 

Joining the others, she finds that Zedd has set the fire, and is already busy waving away Dahlia's offers to cook and smiling with pleasure at yet another chance to fuss over an open fire. He warms the food the innkeeper sent with them until it is steaming, while Cara unpacks her bedroll and settles next to the fire. 

Richard and Kahlan are already unpacked, and they are sitting tangled together as though the effort of not touching for a day's ride has been almost insurmountable. Richard's legs are spread wide, as he leans against a fallen log, and Kahlan is sitting between them, leaning against his chest and positively beaming. Cara watches, feeling as though something very important is changing. 

As she sits, lost in thought, there is a crunch of leaves behind her and then Dahlia is taking a seat, finally having accepted that nothing will change Zedd's mind when it comes to his own cooking. "They seem sweet," she says, nodding at Richard and Kahlan. There is reservation in her tone - she is speaking out of politeness, rather than genuine affection. 

"If you like that sort of thing," Cara says, turning to look at Dahlia. 

She is smiling, eyes bright, like all of this is some sort of private joke. At once, Cara feels calmer. "Are they always quite so. . .much?" Dahlia asks, voice whisper-soft. 

"No."

Dahlia raises her eyebrows, expectantly, but Cara cannot think of a satisfying way to explain Richard and Kahlan. She simply shakes her head. "It's a complicated story."

Dahlia bumps Cara's shoulder with her own, in reply. Cara leans against her, and they settle like that, shoulder-to-shoulder, as they wait for Zedd to finish with the meal. It is not quite Richard and Kahlan, giggling at each other like children, lost in their own world. 

Cara thinks she might prefer Dahlia's sort of company. 

*

Dahlia has laid her bedroll next to Cara's, and she smiles at Cara as she lies down, eyes hinting at the evening before. Cara simply looks, taking in the lines of her body as she settles on her back, tamping down the flare of lust she feels at Dahlia's gaze on her. Resting her head on her hands, she sighs. Sleep is not going to come easily tonight. 

She hears a rustling from across the fire, near the place where she knows Kahlan and Richard are resting, Richard pressed close against Kahlan's back. Gradually, sound begins to reach her ears from the other side of camp - the wet smack of mouths coming together, and a soft sigh that can only be Kahlan. 

Cara fights the urge to groan and rolls onto her side, away from the sound. 

When she turns, she realizes that she is facing Dahlia, and that Dahlia is watching her with laughing eyes. Cara feels another pang of desire, and leans closer. "I hope," Dahlia says, voice barely a whisper, so near that her breath is hot against Cara's cheek. "For your sake, that they have not always been like this."

"They haven't," Cara whispers, but her mind is no longer on Richard and Kahlan. Slowly, she reaches out to trace a line down Dahlia's cheek, from temple to jaw. 

"One would think they'd just been married," Dahlia whispers, but her voice ends in a soft, bitten-back moan as Cara's hand moves lower, to Dahlia's throat and down to the tops of her breasts. 

From across the camp, the sound suddenly stops. 

Cara leans in, replacing her fingertip with her mouth, scraping teeth across the swell of Dahlia's breasts until she whimpers again, soft but unmistakable. There is tentative rustling from the direction of Richard and Kahlan, but no other sounds.

Dahlia strokes at Cara's hair, hands moving idly as though she cannot decide if she wishes to pull Cara's mouth closer, or drag her away. "I think we've been heard," she whispers against the top of Cara's head, and Cara smiles. 

She raises her head, watching Dahlia's face, the way her eyes are dark with lust, visible even in the dim light of the fire. Cara wants Dahlia, very suddenly, but she is too conscious of the people around her - of the feelings of the people around her - to truly enjoy herself. Slowly, deliberately, she leans towards Dahlia.

They kiss, but it is the barest of contacts, Cara holding her head back so that Dahlia has to lean into her, showing Cara just how much she wants this. Cara smiles, lips curling against Dahlia's mouth. "We can't do this here," she whispers. 

Dahlia nods, but there is disappointment in her eyes. At least until Cara stands, reaching down for her hand. 

"Come with me," is all Cara needs to say, voice soft enough that Richard and Kahlan will not be disturbed. 

They find a clearing quickly enough, a distance from their camp. It's near enough that Cara does not think they'll be in any danger - well within the borders of the magical barrier Zedd claims will suffice for him taking his turn at watch. But it's also far enough that when Cara draws Dahlia close to her and bites down, teeth marking the expanse of skin between her neck and her shoulder, Zedd and the others will not hear. 

Dahlia gasps against Cara's cheek, pulling her close. She feels soft in Cara's arms, feminine and delicate, and Cara lets herself enjoy it, closing her eyes and tugging Dahlia nearer still. Dahlia's hips fit against hers just so, her skirts swirling around Cara's legs. There is an ease to the feel of her, the way she responds to Cara's hands and to her mouth, that makes Cara want to touch her more and more. 

Slowly, Cara begins to kiss a path from Dahlia's shoulders to her throat, her jaw, and finally her lips. When they kiss, Dahlia's mouth is hungry, kissing as though she wishes for more of Cara, whimpering against the feel of her tongue. Her hands find the edges of Cara's collar, tugging. It takes a moment for Cara to understand, to realize that Dahlia is tugging downward and bending her knees with intent. 

When she does, she cannot help but smile. She releases Dahlia, watching as she settles on the ground, ankles crossed around Cara's ankles. She's watching Cara, carefully, long eyelashes blinking dark against her cheeks in a way that makes Cara all but fall to her knees, pressing her weight on top of Dahlia. They fit together neatly, Dahlia's legs cupping Cara's thigh. As Cara's hands skim her sides, fisting in her skirts, Dahlia arches up, the hardest part of her hips rubbing against the muscle of Cara's thigh. 

"Cara," she whimpers, hiking her knees higher, pressing against Cara's leg with more insistence. 

Dahlia is flushed, spread out on the ground beneath Cara, breath coming quickly. Her breasts are all but spilling out of her corset, tugged loose by Cara's roaming hands, and as Cara sits up to remove her glove, watching Dahlia with intent, the shuddering rise and fall of her chest is truly a wonder. 

Cara casts her glove to the side and slides her hands beneath Dahlia's skirts, finding cloth and then more cloth, and finally fever-hot skin, soft and slick for her. She licks her lips, leaning down to kiss Dahlia, and as their mouths meet she slides her fingers inside, curling them until Dahlia cries out. Satisfaction rises in her, and she thrusts her fingers once again, more forcefully. Dahlia shivers around her, and Cara moves again, and again. As she finds a rhythm, working her hand inside Dahlia until she whimpers, she dips her head to nip at Dahlia's breasts, her throat.

Dahlia's cries begin to grow louder, as Cara's fingertips find the right place, high inside her, and it is not long before Dahlia is coming undone, with a shout that feels far too loud in the stillness of the forest.

Idly, Cara wonders if they were heard, back at the camp - but only idly, with Dahlia beneath her, breathing harsh and well-satisfied as she comes back to herself. Dahlia's hands find Cara's back, stroking her body with long, broad motions, petting the length of her spine. 

Cara feels her cheeks begin to flush, and desire flares, low in her belly, as Dahlia's touches grow more earnest. She presses her mouth to Dahlia's, waiting for her to recover. 

She does not have to wait long. Soon, Dahlia is shifting, rolling Cara onto her back. Her eyes are laughing, and there is playfulness to the curve of her smile as she straddles Cara's hips, cheeks pink and chest still heaving. 

Cara cannot help but laugh at her good fortune, as she pulls Dahlia down to meet her. 

*

The next morning, Cara and Dahlia wake with the sun, still in their clearing. They dress quickly, Cara adjusting the laces on Dahlia's corset and Dahlia handing Cara her gloves, her smile an innuendo. They join the others just as they're waking; Zedd grumbling about the state of his back from sleeping on hard ground, Richard and Kahlan tangled together so tightly that Kahlan blushes as she wakes to find that the others can see them. 

As they set about breaking camp and cooking the morning meal, Dahlia is coy, finding subtle ways to touch Cara at the back of her neck, her waist. She is tempting Cara, intentionally, and there is a part of Cara that wants nothing more than to wrap her hand in the laces of Dahlia's corset and pull her near, to teach her about the danger in teasing a Mord'Sith. But Cara maintains her calm, even if she does wrap her bedroll with slightly more force than strictly necessary. 

Dahlia and Zedd break into the next of the provisions from the inn, setting out bread and cheese and apples for the morning meal. There is a red mark on Dahlia's throat, the size of a gold coin, but Richard and Zedd politely refrain from noticing it altogether. Kahlan's eyes grow wide, though, at the sight of it. She looks at Cara curiously, and then from Cara to Dahlia and back again - as though she wishes to ask something, but is holding herself back. 

By the time they have stamped out the fire and readied the horses, Kahlan has not felt the need to ask anything of either of them, and so Cara puts it from her mind. She tries not to think about the way she feels oddly relieved, to not need to discuss Dahlia with anyone else. 

As they ride on, they settle into a sort of formation, as they did the day before - Richard and Kahlan in front, smiling at each other shyly, Zedd in the middle, and Cara and Dahlia behind him. Dahlia keeps her horse close to Cara's. She does not ride close enough for it to be dangerous, as Richard and Kahlan seem set on doing, but she is near enough that they can speak without shouting. Dahlia asks her questions with a friendly and disarming smile, and Cara finds herself answering, telling Dahlia things she has not told anyone, save Kahlan. 

Somehow, when Dahlia teases her about never smiling, or wonders at the way her hands are not clumsy, even though she is wearing gloves, Cara does not mind. Instead, she finds herself breaking open, chuckling at Dahlia's jokes, feeling as though they have known each other for years. Talking with Dahlia is comfortable, familiar in a vague sense - as if she has done this before, even though she's quite sure that this is the first time. 

It's only when Dahlia looks at her, eyes wide and earnest, and asks, "Where are you from?" that Cara cannot answer.

A familiar feeling rises up in her chest - the sense that, somehow, she has left herself without escape. It is the same way she sometimes feels, when Kahlan asks too pointedly about her family. She does not wish to answer, but she cannot think of a way to explain herself adequately. "It's not important," she says, instead, clearing her throat. 

She squeezes her heels tight against the belly of her horse, urging it into a trot, and catches up to Zedd. 

*

Dahlia does not speak to her again until later that night, well after the meal has been made. 

The others are asleep, but it is Cara's turn at watch, so she stands at the edge of camp, leaning against the boulder that shields the glow of their fire and Zedd's sleeping body. Richard and Kahlan left hours ago, holding hands and mumbling something about going for a walk. If Cara listens carefully, she can sometimes hear cries carried along the wind, loud and wanton. 

She does not listen for long. 

Instead, she thinks, turning her conversations with Dahlia over in her mind. She is distracted, lost in her own thoughts, and so she does not hear the crunch of leaves behind her until Dahlia is upon her, standing straight with a hurt look on her face. 

"Cara," she says, and the sadness in her voice is nearly punishment enough. 

"Yes," Cara says, looking away. She feels foolish, rude, and she cannot bear it. 

Dahlia speaks in a rush, stepping closer as she talks. "If I offended you at all, if I -" Cara looks up, utterly bewildered, and Dahlia ducks her head as though Cara is angry. "I asked too much. I apologize." 

Cara feels clumsy, unsure of the best way to explain herself, once again. Oddly, she finds herself wishing for Kahlan. She would know what to say. 

"It's alright," Cara says. It is not the right thing, Cara's sure, but it seems to put Dahlia at ease. Her frown begins to soften, and she moves closer, leaning against the boulder so that her hip is pressed to Cara's hip. 

Cara turns to her, wishing to say more. Before she can speak, however, Dahlia is leaning toward her, pressing her fingertips to the underside of Cara's jaw. "Good," Dahlia all but purrs, leaning in to capture her mouth with a kiss, slow and almost shy. 

Cara keeps herself still. She wants to allow Dahlia to take the lead, wait to see what she will do next, but it's such an effort that she can feel herself shaking. Dahlia kisses again, and again, soft brushes of her mouth that make Cara feel liquid with desire. Until Cara can do nothing but kiss back, wrapping her fingers around the base of Dahlia's skull and pulling her near. 

She feels consumed with wanting, selfishly, in a way she has not felt since her youth. She wants to be in control of this. She wants to give in to her appetites without the twisting behind her ribs, without the feeling that this is something more than a dark night and a warm meal and a pretty girl. She does not understand the pull she feels toward Dahlia, except that it is there. 

Cara kisses Dahlia, hungrily, tongue lapping into her mouth, and Dahlia returns her kisses as though it is a competition, lustful and possessive. Gradually, Dahlia's hands find their way inside Cara's leather, cupping her breasts, tugging as though she wishes to slide Cara's leather off her shoulders and down. Cara hesitates a moment - thinking of Richard and Kahlan and what will undoubtedly be a short walk, of Zedd snoring enthusiastically beside them. 

She pulls away and cups Dahlia's cheek, stroking her lower lip. Dahlia blinks, her expression patient, but her nails scrape idly at Cara's skin, raising goosebumps. Cara huffs, feeling off balance and breathless. "What are you doing to me?" she whispers, almost to herself. 

"What do you mean?" Dahlia asks, eyes dark and innocent. 

Cara sighs, and begins to work at her laces. She removes her gloves, loosening her leather with practiced hands, until Dahlia can slide it off her shoulders and belly and then down her hips. She stops only when Cara is bare to her knees, leaning against the boulder. She feels overheated, feverish, as Dahlia drops to her knees in front of her. 

Dahlia takes Cara's hips in her hands, and leans forward to lap at her with her tongue. 

Cara groans, suddenly overcome, and cants her hips up, giving Dahlia better access. She threads her fingers through Dahlia's hair, trying not to tug. But as Dahlia's mouth finds the spot where Cara needs her, tongue flicking, Cara's fingers flex almost of their own will, fisting in Dahlia's hair and keeping her close. 

Dahlia is skilled, as she works at Cara, and her groans turn to gasps almost embarrassingly quickly. Dahlia's tongue moves against her, tugging ever-louder cries from Cara, until she arches up and finishes, slick against Dahlia's mouth. 

As Cara returns to herself, Dahlia rests her head on Cara's thigh, looking up at her, mouth slippery and smiling. Cara's hand is still fisted in her hair, and she tugs until Dahlia stands, rising to kiss Cara with a mouth that tastes of Cara. 

Cara hums as Dahlia pulls away. Despite the hurt she seemed to feel earlier, Dahlia looks pleased, eyes dark and breath coming in shallow gasps. 

"It's a good thing the wizard sleeps so soundly," Dahlia says, her smile almost playful. 

Watching her now, Cara can hardly imagine why she ever tried to keep anything from this woman. She is fascinating, compelling. Even as Cara sees the danger in that, in such closeness with a woman she hardly knows, she cannot bring herself to worry. Instead, she covers Dahlia's mouth with a kiss. 

*

Cara wakes the next morning to Dahlia draped across her chest, sleeping peacefully, and the sounds of Richard and Kahlan returning to camp. 

"Dahlia," she whispers, brushing Dahlia's hair away from her face, gloves gentle across her skin. 

Dahlia hums, still half-asleep, her happy noises giving way to a sound of protest as Cara begins to rise. "It's morning," Cara says, gently, as she slides out from under Dahlia's arms, rising to meet Kahlan and Richard. It is morning, and there is work to be done. 

Cara stands just as Kahlan and Richard arrive in their clearing, holding hands and smiling as if they have accomplished something wonderful together. Cara resists the urge to roll her eyes, instead looking away and busying herself with the fire. Zedd will sleep for an hour yet, at the very least, and someone is going to have to feed them all. 

As Cara unwraps the parcels of food they gathered at the inn, frowning at how much they have eaten in so short a time, Kahlan kneels beside her, to help. 

"You and Dahlia seem friendly," she says, conspiratorial and sisterly.

She is watching Dahlia help Richard with the horses, eyes trained on the red mark on Dahlia's throat that seems to have grown larger since the morning before. Cara feels panic rise up in her chest. "What are you talking about?"

"Cara," she says, as though to a willful child. "I don't need to be a Confessor to notice the way that you look at her."

Cara looks up, pointedly. She does not want to have this discussion, not with Kahlan or anyone. However she cares for Dahlia - if she cares for Dahlia - it is nobody's business but her own. "How, exactly, do I look at her?"

"Like -" Kahlan pauses a little, blushing, and Cara feels a thrill of satisfaction at having put Kahlan off balance. 

"Like Richard looks at me," Kahlan finally says, biting her lip. She looks shy, positively glowing with happiness, and Cara does not know how to respond. 

Cara's voice is clipped, and she can feel her shoulders tensing as she speaks, looking down at the food. "That's ridiculous." 

There is a smile in Kahlan's tone as she places a hand on Cara's arm, squeezing gently. "Alright," she says. "But if you ever want to discuss it, I'm here."

*

Richard is eager to get moving that day, no doubt invigorated by his walk the evening before. He bounces his knee as he sits to eat, asking Zedd about the fastest route through the mountains to the forest where they plan to make camp tonight. When everyone has finished eating, he rises on his toes, smiling like a boy and urging Cara with his eyes to work faster. Kahlan smiles at him, doting and indulgent. Cara can feel the beginnings of a headache throbbing behind her eyes. 

"You know," she says to Richard, the third time he asks her if she needs help packing her things, "You four could always go on ahead. I'll catch up once I'm finished."

Richard considers for a moment, but no longer, his desire to move on overriding his manners, this once. "Are you sure?" he says, as an afterthought. 

"Of course."

Richard moves to leave, practically leaping astride his horse with enthusiasm that makes Kahlan hide a laugh behind her hand. Dahlia looks at Cara, obviously torn, and Cara realizes that she is waiting to be asked to stay. 

Cara has never had someone look to her like that, in silent communication, aside from her sisters. 

She nods in answer to Dahlia's hopeful look. In part, it is to spend time with Dahlia, away from watchful eyes and ears. It is also the thought of Dahlia and Kahlan alone together, with time to talk about Cara, the prospect of which fills Cara with a quiet sense of dread. 

Richard and Kahlan and Zedd disappear along the trail, and Cara takes her time arranging her pack. Dahlia stands with the horses, waiting patiently, and Cara can feel Dahlia's eyes on her. When she looks up, finally ready to leave, Dahlia is watching with an appreciative smile on her face, invitation in her eyes. 

Cara feels an answering smile on her lips before she can think to hide it. 

* 

They ride for a while, following the path that Richard decided on earlier in the morning. Every so often, Dahlia looks at her through her eyelashes, smiling, and Cara feels need flare in her as she remembers the night before. It's distracting, drawing her focus away from the forest around them, and Cara does not notice how silent the woods have become until it is broken by the snap of a twig behind them. 

Cara pulls her horse up short, looking around, and she realizes that there is movement in the trees, in front of them. Turning around, she sees figures to the rear, and realizes they have been surrounded. Instantly, she feels foolish, and even moreso because Dahlia is looking at her expectantly, trust in her eyes. 

She dismounts and gives her reins to Dahlia, her free hand resting on the hilt of her agiel. She makes sure that Dahlia is paying attention, looking into her eyes. "Stay on your horse," she says, voice quiet and deadly serious. "When I tell you, I want you to take the trail to the north, and join Richard."

Dahlia nods. She looks frightened, her breaths coming shallow and quick, but she swallows and grips her reins more tightly, shifting in her seat to be ready to gallop. 

It's then that the attack comes. 

Bandits, five of them rushing at once, and it seems almost ridiculous that after defeating the Keeper of the Underworld himself, Cara would make her last stand against common thieves. Cara unsheathes her agiels with a grin, heart leaping as she steps into battle, her back to Dahlia and the horses. Her agiel hits the cheekbone of the first bandit with a crack, and Cara can feel the way it shatters under her blow, satisfying and visceral. There is no uncertainty here, no messy emotion, only her arms and legs and her heart thudding beneath her skin, urging her on to the next bandit. As she dispatches him, she turns, looking for Dahlia, ready to tell her to run, and suddenly the messiness of emotion comes rushing back. 

Dahlia is not on her horse. 

Instead, she's on the ground, struggling with one of the bandits, and Cara feels real fear fluttering in her chest before she sees the flash of steel, hears the slippery crunch of blade sinking through skin, between ribs, in a way that can only be fatal. Dahlia rises, blood dripping from the knife in her hand, the third of the bandits dying at her feet. Cara did not think it was possible, to feel lust for her even more strongly.

As the fourth bandit sets himself upon Cara, snarling as though he plans to do real damage, Cara strikes out, savage and confident once more. This is the next to last, and Cara is already thinking ahead to the way she will take Dahlia - roughly, against a tree at the side of the road - after the battle is through. 

There is a cry from behind Cara, sharp and plaintive, and Cara knows, instinctively, that Dahlia has been hurt. She turns only once, looking back as she strikes her foe hard, her agiel digging into the softest part of his stomach, barely sparing a second. Dahlia has been hurt, but her opponent has been hurt far worse - he is lying on the ground, clutching at his belly. 

Cara presses her agiel to her assailant's temple, hard, until he is no longer a threat. She and Dahlia have won. 

All Mord'Sith carry with them a kit for emergencies - a needle and silk thread and supplies to stitch wounds, to heal each other in battle at times when the breath of life is not needed, and magic is not available. She looks at Dahlia's thigh, the gash bleeding swiftly onto her skirts, the grass beside the path, and reaches for her pack. 

Cara sighs, and takes the kit from her pack, unrolling it on the ground next to Dahlia. Dahlia's eyes go wide at the sight of it. 

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Cara asks, tugging at Dahlia's skirt where she is pressing it to the wound, examining the damage. The cut is clean, a smooth line of open flesh spanning the middle of her thigh from hip to knee, but it will bleed.

Dahlia shakes her head. "No." 

She presses her skirts to the wound once more, hissing in pain. She does not fret about the way her blood will ruin the cloth, or the size of the cut on her thigh - as though she has suffered injuries before. Cara cannot help but wonder how a barmaid from Bridgewater found herself wounded in battle before now. 

Still, as she collects tinder for a small fire, setting leaves and twigs alight to sterilize her needle, it is impossible to miss the way that Dahlia's eyes begin to grow bright, and her bottom lip begins to quiver. 

"Stowecroft," Cara says, the first thing that comes to mind. She speaks quickly - as though it will keep Dahlia from crying. "I'm from Stowecroft."

Dahlia bites her lip, whimpering, as Cara holds the needle to the flame. "I knew it," she says, voice twisted with pain. 

"You did," Cara says, trying not to register surprise. Instead, she focuses on keeping the thread clean, making sure all of the needle has been scorched.

Dahlia nods, teeth pressing down on her lip so hard, Cara worries that she might bite through it. "We went to school together. You -" she shifts, trying to sit higher, and her face twists in agony. It's several long moments of shuddery breath before she can bring herself to speak again. "You sat in the front. You liked reading."

Cara smiles, threading the needle. "I remember," she says, voice soft. 

She passes Dahlia a strip of leather, and Dahlia bites down, steeling herself. There is nothing more in Cara's pack that she can use to dull the pain. "This will hurt"

Dahlia nods. Her eyes are wide, made darker with fear and the agony she must be feeling, that she is unused to. Her face is ghost-pale, damp with sweat. Cara recalls, almost suddenly, that Dahlia is not a Mord'Sith. She has never been taught to withstand pain, to control it. With a sigh, she beings to speak again. 

"It's only pain," she says roughly, almost scolding. "You are stronger than it will ever be." Cara presses the needle against Dahlia's flesh, the point ready. "I need you to master it." 

Dahlia nods soberly, the bit held tightly between her teeth. Then she reaches for Cara's hand, grasping it tight. Cara squeezes back, even tighter, and she does not know if she wants Dahlia to keep from crying because it will be a distraction, or for another reason altogether. 

Rather than examine her feelings, Cara slides the needle forward, one-handed, piercing flesh and grasping the other side of the wound. She sews neatly, as quickly as she can, but she keeps Dahlia's hand clasped tightly in her own until the very end. 

When she is finished, knotting the silk thread and discarding the needle, she spares a glance at Dahlia's face. Dahlia is red-cheeked, sweat beading across her forehead, bit clenched tightly between her teeth. But she does not cry, and she does not look away when Cara meets her eyes - she is in control of her pain, doing a far better job than Cara would expect for a woman not trained for battle. 

As she releases Dahlia's hand, stretching cramped fingers, she finds that she is almost proud. 

Dahlia spits out the bit, panting. She watches as Cara packs up her kit, breathing through her pain. Gradually, as the sting in her thigh begins to subside, Dahlia picks up her knife, wiping it clean on the bloody remains of her skirts. The movement is practiced, as though this is not the first time she has killed to defend herself, and Cara watches with curiosity that she does not bother to hide. 

Dahlia smiles. "When I was eight, the Mord'Sith came to my town and stole away all the young girls of my age. I was the only one to escape."

Cara nods, watching her hands. She remembers that day well, and she cannot help but be brought back to it in her mind - the clang of swords, two strong hands on her arms and the sight of her sister, struggling to help her. 

Dahlia turns her knife over, pressing the point to her fingertip and twirling the hilt, round and round. "After that, it was so hard to -" She sighs, suddenly, breathing out against the pain from her wounds and from something else entirely. "I wanted to be ready. In case they came back."

Dahlia begins to twist her knife more quickly, perilously close to nicking her fingertip. Without thinking, Cara reaches out, bare fingers stilling Dahlia's hands. "So, I went to my brother, and I asked him if he would teach me to fight."

Cara curls her fingers around Dahlia's. She does not know why, but she suddenly wants to give comfort. It is an impulse she does not have time to indulge, and rather than give into it, she clears her throat and begins to rise. "We should get moving. Richard and the others will be wondering about us."

Dahlia smiles, squeezing Cara's hand. "Thank you," she says, eyes shining. 

Cara coughs, looking away. She feels awkward, unsure of herself, unsure of what to do with the gratitude she sees when Dahlia looks at her. "I should fetch the horses," is all she can think to say. 

Dahlia smiles, as though Cara has said exactly the right thing. 

*

They rejoin the others as they are making camp, tucked into a clearing that backs onto a rock face, just off the main road. It is a good place to make camp, easily defensible, and something about that eases the dull ache in Cara's chest that has been building since she and Dahlia began riding on. Dahlia has been strong, seated tall on her horse, but it is impossible not to see how pale she is, the fine sheen of sweat across her brow from the effort of staying seated. With every movement of her horse under her hips, she winces. 

Kahlan is the one who notices Dahlia first, and at the sight of her bloody skirts, the tight set of her jaw, she comes rushing to meet them. She is ready as Dahlia dismounts, with a hand on her shoulder and a dozen different questions, bustling her towards the fire. Within moments Dahlia is sitting, a mug in her hands, Zedd and Kahlan fussing over her in the kindest possible way. Cara relaxes, knowing that Dahlia is cared for, but she cannot shake an odd feeling of loss, as she watches the three of them. As though Kahlan and Zedd are doing a job that should be Cara's. 

There is work to be done, though, and so Cara puts the feeling from her mind and dismounts, bringing her horse and Dahlia's towards the others. She tends to them thoroughly, taking comfort in the details of the job, in the routine of something she knows by heart, familiar and easy. 

It is not long before she hears footsteps behind her, unmistakably Richard. He rests his arm against Cara's horse, watching her as she brushes its coat, clearing out dust and dirt from the day's ride. He looks serious, as though he is concerned for Cara, and she finds that she does not have the energy to resent it. 

"Banelings?" he asks. 

Cara shakes her head. "Common bandits. Five of them."

He looks at her, sympathetic, and Cara wants to squirm under his gaze. "Cara, I know that Dahlia is someone you care about."

"It's fine," she says, brushing her horse just a bit more savagely, until it starts to step in place with irritation. She quiets her hands, but her jaw is clenched tight as Richard continues to speak. 

"This wasn't your -"

"You don't know that," she says, cutting him off. She glares at him, suddenly furious. "I should have been paying attention."

"Cara, there's no way you could have known."

" _Richard_ ," she says, snapping at him like he's her older brother, rather than the Lord Rahl. "It's fine. What's done is done."

"Alright," he replies, remarkably good-natured. He claps a hand to her shoulder, gentle and friendly, and Cara feels comforted despite herself. It only makes her angrier. "But if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here."

It's only much later - after dark, as Dahlia and Zedd bicker gently over what to cook for dinner - that Cara finally speaks to Richard. She has felt on edge all night, tension that she cannot explain fraying the edges of her patience, making her restless. Zedd has cleaned the blood off of Dahlia's dress with his magic, and Kahlan has helped her mend it, but still Cara looks over at her and sees blood spilling from her wound, the hardness in her eyes from being in pain. It upsets Cara, in a way that she finds unfamiliar. She does not know how to control this. 

So she sits next to Richard, who is quietly staring into the fire, alone. He smiles at her, hair flopping across his eyes, as calm as if he'd been expecting her. Cara does not meet his gazes. They sit together for a long while, elbows on knees, Cara watching the flames and Richard watching Cara. 

"She can fight," Cara finally says, her voice soft with emotion.

"Really?"

Cara nods, not meeting Richard's eyes. "She killed two of them on her own, before -" she stops for a moment, unable to put the events of the morning into words. "With proper training, she could be better."

"You did well," he says, bumping her shoulder with his own. Cara feels a sudden rush of affection for him, beyond the love that all Mord'Sith must feel for the Lord Rahl.

"I let her get hurt. Richard, she could have -"

Richard's voice is forceful, insistent, as he interrupts. "But she didn't." 

Cara sighs, frustrated with him once more. 

"Hey," Richard says, more gently, nudging her until she turns to look at him. His face is calm, friendly. He is watching her as though she is a skittish horse, ready to bolt. "I'm glad Dahlia is okay."

"So am I," she says, softly. 

It's then that Dahlia and Zedd return, the matter of supper finally settled. Kahlan sits next to Richard, cuddling close as he puts his arm around her. Cara does not feel the need to talk, but around her, the other four begin to fill the silence of the camp with happy chatter, smiling and joking despite the day. 

Zedd grumbles about his hunger, Richard about the weather and what trouble Zedd's stomach can be, while Kahlan leans against his side and laughs indulgently. The pattern of it all is familiar, the way that things have been for months. Yet, somehow, Dahlia fits herself into it naturally, like she has always been there. As if she should be there, always. She catches Kahlan's eye as she laughs, teasingly corrects Zedd as he puts in too much of one spice and not enough of another. 

And later, when they sit together to eat, Dahlia rests with her wounded leg stretched beside her, her back pressed against Cara's knees. Cara finds herself drawn to her, twisting her fingers through the hair at Dahlia's nape when she thinks that the others will not see. 

Once the meal is done, it is not long before Dahlia rises, announcing that she plans to sleep. Cara does not miss the pallor of Dahlia's face, or the way that she winces slightly as she stands, favoring her injured leg. It is enough to make Cara follow almost immediately, feigning exhaustion. She does not miss the way that Richard and Kahlan give each other a significant look, as though something is terribly funny, but she ignores it all the same. 

When she lies down, Dahlia's body finds her, pressing close, eyes looking up with gratitude and kindness that make Cara feel happy and safe and terrified and trapped, all at once. She does not know what to do with the feeling, so she strokes Dahlia's spine and waits. 

"I wanted to thank you again," Dahlia says. "For today."

Cara looks away, guilt washing over her once more. "It was nothing."

"It was _something_ ," Dahlia says, watching Cara, ducking her head to meet Cara's eyes. "You saved my life."

"You were hurt," Cara says, pain in her voice.

"I've been hurt worse," Dahlia says, and it does not sound like a lie. Her eyelashes are dark against her skin as she blinks, watching Cara. She takes a deep, shuddering breath before she speaks again. "I'm glad you brought me with you."

As she did on the path this morning, Cara feels awkward, clumsy. "I only brought you because you asked me to."

"Are you sorry you did?" There is a quiet sort of hope in Dahlia's eyes, and she traces circles on Cara's chest, dragging the edge of her nail across the tender skin at Cara's throat. 

Cara shivers. "No."

"Neither am I," Dahlia says, and something in Cara's chest squeezes tight. 

She does not have any more words. There is a part of her that wants, very much, to roll Dahlia onto her back and ravish her, fast and rough. But the stitches in Dahlia's thigh are fresh, stretched tight against tender skin, and she does not need to lose any more blood. 

Instead, Cara presses a kiss to Dahlia's temple, cradling the back of her head with her hand. "Sleep." 

Dahlia nods, settling her head on Cara's chest rather than her bedroll. One arm drapes itself across Cara's waist, possessively, and Cara finds that she does not have the heart to move it. 

She lies awake, long after Dahlia's breath has slowed into the gentle rhythm of sleep, alone with her thoughts. 

 

*

They reach Thornvale the following afternoon.

As they crest the last hill on the trail, looking down at the town before them, Cara feels a sudden sense of loss, sharp behind her ribs. A part of her had hoped, without reason, that they would not reach town so soon. She notices that Dahlia is looking at her, sadly, and wonders if she is feeling something similar.

However, she is not allowed the luxury of time to think about the matter further. Richard is already urging his horse onward with heels and a gentle word, beginning down the path into town. As they ride, Zedd is a sudden fountain of knowledge, impossible to ignore as he begins to spout fact after fact about Thornvale and its history, the people there. Richard nods along like he's terribly interested, but Cara does not. The only thing she can think about is the way that her heart sinks with every step of her mount, as they ride down the hill and towards the square. 

They make their way through a maze of squat, wooden houses, past country people who leave their homes in wonder at the sight of the Seeker and the Mother Confessor traveling past. As they near the square, the houses become larger, made of stone, and people no longer stop and stare as they pass. Far too quickly, they find the center of town, the wooden sign emblazoned with the crudely-carved flagon of ale that, in any language, welcomes travelers to the inn. 

It's a larger building than Cara expected - greater than the inn at Bridgewater, by far. Cara supposes that Dahlia could be happy here. 

They dismount together, behind the inn proper, leaving their horses with the stable boys that emerge, squabbling over which of them will tend to the Seeker's horse. Zedd looks at Dahlia, then Cara, with an odd expression on his face - as though he is considering something he does not quite understand. When he turns back to Kahlan, they smile at each other. Cara knows that they have not missed the way that she and Dahlia have been with each other, these last few days. "You know," Zedd finally says, eyes laughing. "I think we've all earned another night at an inn before we move on."

Kahlan smiles, squeezing Zedd's arm as though he has done her a favor. She is watching Cara and Dahlia, like she is hoping to see that they are as happy as she is. As if what Cara feels for Dahlia is any of her concern. 

But the sense of relief that washes over Cara, at the thought of one last night with Dahlia, is such that Cara cannot find it in herself to be irritated with Kahlan. 

Instead, she turns to Dahlia, watching her carefully. She presses her hand to the small of Dahlia's back, feeling her corset and the heat of her skin just below. "Will you be staying at the inn with us?" she asks, her voice coming from low in her chest. 

Dahlia blushes, suddenly modest. 

"I don't see why not," she says. The look she gives Cara, pink-cheeked and full of intent, is enough to make Cara breathless. 

Dinner is the first order of the evening, as it always seems to be when Zedd is left in charge of the proceedings. Dahlia sits at the table next to Cara, as Zedd orders the meal and speaks to the innkeeper about rooms for the five of them, the back of her hand pressed against the leather over Cara's thigh. Kahlan and Richard are opposite them, and from the tense look on Richard's face, Cara suspects that Kahlan's hands are similarly occupied. She catches Richard's eye, gives him a knowing smile, and he flushes bright red like a schoolboy. 

As she thought. 

They make conversation - rather, Kahlan makes conversation with Dahlia, asking about work she might look for and complimenting the cut of her dress. Richard looks around, bobbing his knee under the table with such force that Cara can see it in the lines of his body, shaking up to his shoulders. 

Cara, for her part, is not faring much better. Halfway through dinner, as the plates in front of them are replaced with mugs of ale, Dahlia takes Cara's hand and slides it beneath her skirts to place it on the bare skin of her thigh. Cara huffs out a long, shuddering breath into her mug, and the corner of Dahlia's mouth tilts up, as though she's satisfied. Cara is struck, very suddenly, with how much she will miss Dahlia once they part ways. 

Zedd is the first to retire, yawning powerfully and rising from the table, announcing to the rest of them and half the inn that he'll be off to bed. Cara's eyes flick to the stairs, thinking longingly of the soft bed she knows is up there, and Dahlia spread naked on top of it. But the others make no move to leave, and her second mug of ale is nearly full, so she settles back in her chair and draws circles on the inside of Dahlia's thigh, trying to be patient. 

Once Zedd is gone, the bouncing of Richard's leg becomes even more pronounced, and his gaze flicks to the stairs every so often, as though his thoughts are not so different from Cara's. The movement of his shoulders is absolutely maddening, hitting at nerves already frayed from Dahlia's closeness and the looks Dahlia keeps casting her way, as if she is doing all of this on purpose.

"Are you ill, Richard?" Cara finally says, her patience with him entirely gone.

He blinks, looking at her as though she has asked something ridiculous. "What?"

"You're shaking," she says, pointedly.

Kahlan hides a smile in a kiss to his shoulder, looking indulgently at Cara. Dahlia laughs, but it ends in a gasp as Cara squeezes down on her thigh, hinting at things to come.

"You know," Dahlia says, yawning theatrically, as though she is not sitting directly across from the Mother Confessor. "I'm still exhausted from yesterday. Is it alright if I retire?"

Cara releases Dahlia's thigh and yawns herself, half-heartedly, trying not to look too pleased. "Now that you mention it, I'm tired, too."

Richard nods, absolutely overjoyed.

Dahlia stands slowly, favoring her injured leg as she moves away from the table. She lets Cara take her by the waist, as though she is in pain, and together they make their way toward the stairs. Cara does not know who Dahlia is trying to convince; as they turn to leave, Richard and Kahlan are already leaning close, whispering as only lovers can. 

Dahlia's fatigue melts away, just as they reach the room that Zedd reserved them for the evening. 

She presses Cara to the inside of the door, hands on her shoulders, and kisses her open-mouthed, teeth and tongue rough against Cara's lips. Cara kisses back just as fiercely, her hand coming up to Dahlia's nape, pulling her closer. Dahlia's breathing is hot and harsh against her mouth, and Cara inhales, eyes closed, as though it will make the memory of it last longer. Cara has had many last nights with many lovers before Dahlia, but there is a feeling of finality to this, a bittersweetness that Cara has never felt before. 

Dahlia pulls away, nose bumping against Cara's. "I thought you were tired."

Cara slides her hands down from Dahlia's neck to her hips and tugs, sharply, pulling Dahlia off balance and against her, against the door. "I thought _you_ were tired," she mumbles, preoccupied, as her hands slide along the lines of Dahlia's corset. 

Dahlia laughs against her mouth. 

Cara's hands find the stays of Dahlia's corset, and she unlaces it by touch, not bothering to look down as Dahlia's mouth ghosts along her jaw, her throat. She breathes out, blowing air across Cara's ear, and Cara cannot hide the way her whole body shudders in anticipation. She pushes Dahlia's hips, gently, until she steps away from Cara and the door to give Cara a questioning look. Her hair is mussed, her cheeks pink, and her corset is completely unlaced, gaping open and nearly falling off. She looks utterly debauched, ready to be ravished; Cara can hardly stand it. 

"Undress," she says, quietly. 

Dahlia bites her lip in answer, shimmying out of her corset and setting it on the floor. Her dress follows, then her shift, and then she is standing before Cara, naked and eager for her. Cara lets herself stare, taking in the sight of Dahlia, the way that Dahlia is watching her with eyes full of trust. A long moment passes before Cara moves closer again, pressing Dahlia back until she tumbles onto the bed. 

Cara straddles Dahlia's hips, careful to keep her weight off of Dahlia's injured side. Dahlia's hands come up, trailing down Cara's sides, plucking at the laces to her leather. There is a request in her touch, in the way that she looks up at Cara, hunger mixed with emotion that Cara does not care to name. Gently, she turns her hands over and brushes her knuckles down Cara's belly. "Your turn," she says, breathlessly. "Undress for me."

Cara steps back from the bed and makes quick work of her leather, unlacing with practiced hands. Dahlia looks on from the bed, one hand resting on her belly. Her eyes take in Cara's body as though this is the first time, eager and full of wonder, and as Cara steps out of her leather, naked, her tongue flicks out to run across her lower lip. 

Cara has never felt self-conscious about her body, about nakedness in front of others, but the way that Dahlia is watching makes her feel oddly shy. 

She takes a breath, exhaling nervousness that she does not understand, that she should not feel. Dahlia's skin is soft and fever-warm against hers, and it makes Cara press her weight against her as she settles on top of Dahlia on the bed. Dahlia gasps, reaching for Cara's waist once more. Cara takes Dahlia's wrists, gently, and pins them to the bed above Dahlia's head. As she leans down for a kiss, resting her weight on Dahlia's wrists, she feels the answering whimper against her mouth, making desire flare between her thighs. 

Her hands drift down, memorizing the shapes of Dahlia's body. Even at gentle touches, Dahlia hums with satisfaction, arching towards her fingertips, turning the flat expanses of her belly and back into curves and arches. Cara presses down, rubbing at Dahlia's thighs, and they spread eagerly in anticipation, her sex open and slick. The wound on her thigh is still there, red and tender, dark stitches crisscrossing along its length. Gently, Cara dips her head and presses a kiss to it, tasting rust and warmth. Dahlia's hand finds the back of her head, fingers flexing until Cara's hair is ruffled into a tangled mess. 

Slowly, Cara kisses along the length of Dahlia's thigh, past the jagged edges of torn skin to the places where it's smooth, soft. Her mouth ghosts across Dahlia's sex, close enough that Dahlia whimpers as she presses a kiss just above it. Cara can smell Dahlia's arousal - she can almost feel it, warm and humid, as she breathes in. She purses her lips and blows, teasing at Dahlia's center, touching but not touching until Dahlia squirms in frustration, nails digging into Cara's scalp. 

"Cara," Dahlia cries out. Her voice is pleading, distracted, as though she is already lost in this. The sound of it makes desire rise up, hot between Cara's thighs and painful behind her ribs, all at once. 

Cara gives in, making contact with the flat of her tongue along the length of Dahlia's sex. She listens carefully, waiting for the sound that Dahlia makes when Cara's mouth is between her thighs, and closes her eyes against it. She wants to remember that, too. 

She works her tongue faster, as Dahlia's cries grow more insistent, until the sounds alone make Cara press her own thighs together, against the ache of want between them. When Dahlia comes, Cara's name is on her lips, as though she is someone precious. 

Cara slides back up Dahlia's body, mouth slippery, and presses a kiss to the very edge of Dahlia's lips. Dahlia's eyes are closed, as though she's asleep, but her mouth seeks out Cara's and meets it in slow, lazy kisses, as she finds her breath. Slowly, she begins to recover, eyes blinking open and a tired, happy smile spreading across her face. Dahlia brushes Cara's hair behind her ears. There is naked emotion in her eyes, and Cara can feel an answer to it, low in her chest. 

"This is our last night together," Dahlia says, voice lilting up as though it is a question. 

"Yes."

"And tomorrow, you'll follow the seeker on his quest."

Something twists, deep in Cara's chest, and there is an odd pricking behind her eyes as she says, "Yes."

"You don't have to," Dahlia says. 

There's hope in her voice, quiet and shy, and Cara does not know what to do. She is acutely aware of the fact that she will be upset when Dahlia is gone, of how much she wishes that Dahlia could travel with them just a little bit longer. It's difficult for her to breathe. 

So she kisses Dahlia, hard and hungry, teeth at her lips and hands at her neck, as though that will help. As though it will make Dahlia understand. 

Dahlia opens her mouth, pulling Cara closer, as if she does. 

 

*

When Cara wakes the next morning, the first thing she is aware of is the feel of Dahlia's hair, silky against the bare skin of her breasts. She is still exhausted from the night before, sore in the best of places, lazy from the effort of making Dahlia whimper for her, over and over again. Dahlia stirs, pressing closer against Cara's skin, and even after sating herself the night before, Cara feels a thrill of lust, low in her belly. 

Dahlia begins to stretch, yawning as she wakes. Her yawn is cut short, ending in a wince, as the stitches in her thigh tug at skin. Immediately, Cara feels guilt well up in her, as fresh as the day they were attacked. She places her hand on Dahlia's thigh, and gets a smile in return, tired, with sadness at the edges of it.

Suddenly, Cara remembers, all over again, that today is the day when she and Dahlia will part. The emotion that washes over her is exhausting, and Cara finds that she does not want to get out of bed, at all. 

Instead, she wraps her arms tight around Dahlia's waist, pressing teeth to her shoulder. Dahlia's back arches in reply, pulling Cara closer. Cara cannot see Dahlia's face, but she can picture her smile, pleased and a little indulgent. 

"We should eat," Cara says, gently, her voice low and rough with sleep. 

Dahlia rolls over in her arms, and Cara tries to ignore the look on her face, the way she seems very close to crying. Cara presses a chaste kiss to her mouth, and Dahlia swallows, blinking back her tears. 

"I don't want to," Dahlia says, sounding small, and Cara knows that she is talking about far more than breakfast. 

"I know," Cara says, working tangles from Dahlia's hair with her fingertips. Dahlia smiles, as though she understands that Cara really means, _I don't, either._

With a sigh, Cara rolls away from Dahlia and out of bed. They do have to get out of bed, eventually, and there is little point in prolonging the inevitable. Dahlia follows, the fingertips of one hand circled around Cara's wrist. 

Cara pulls on her leather, shimmying into it by herself, with ease that comes from years of practice. She knows how to half-tighten the laces as she goes, curving the garment around her body so that by the time she shrugs her shoulders and slides her arms down the sleeves, she is almost fully dressed. She's nearly done, when suddenly she feels a tentative hand tugging the leather at her wrist. Dahlia is there, looking at her hopefully. 

Cara does not mention what an honor it is, to be allowed to help a Mord'Sith dress. She does not explain the meaning of it, the depth of trust that it signifies. She simply holds out her arm with an indulgent smile, and watches Dahlia's eyes, the way her eyelashes fan across her cheeks as she looks down at her work. 

She does not lace Cara quite tightly enough, but she does her best, smiling up at Cara, lower lip caught between her teeth. When she is finished, Cara kisses her deeply, as though she did it perfectly

Dahlia pulls away, after a long moment, with a shiver. She is still naked, and she steps away to find her shift, discarded on the floor the night before. As she walks across the room, Cara is struck by how soft she looks, how inviting, nothing but an expanse of bare skin and her hair tumbling unpinned down her back. Cara watches her openly as she bends to collect her shift, then her dress, and tugs both pieces on. 

Her corset comes last, and she brings it across the room to Cara, smiling. Cara holds it for her, allowing her to step in, and tugs at the laces with practiced hands, as she did the morning before, as she has every morning before that, since they met. If Dahlia notices her hands shake, very slightly, she does not mention it. 

Cara has missed this, having someone to help in the morning, to help her. She will miss this after they part ways. 

"It's going to be strange," Dahlia says, voice suspiciously watery. "Lacing this up myself."

Cara looks at her hands, blinking furiously. She cannot think of anything to say in return. 

*

It feels like no time passes at all, before they are descending the stairs to enter the main dining room for breakfast. Zedd is already there, quietly devouring enough eggs to feed at least three men. Kahlan and Richard are eating beside him, hands joined under the table. The minute she sees them, Cara wants nothing more than to turn around and go back upstairs. 

Zedd is the one who notices them first, waving and calling their names with his mouth full, as though they are an easy group to miss. Dahlia laughs at him, ducking her head to press it, just for a moment, to Cara's shoulder. 

As they reach the table, taking their places across from Kahlan and Richard, Cara can see Kahlan trying to catch her eye, no doubt for a sympathetic smile. Cara does not think she can tolerate any more feelings besides the ones behind her own ribs, making her chest tight. Instead of looking up, she stares pointedly at her own plate, eating slowly and efficiently rather than speaking. She can feel Dahlia against her side, picking at her meal, more important than all the sympathy in the world. 

Quietly, Cara puts her hand on Dahlia's skirts, under the table. Dahlia leans against her, as though she has done something very important, and it grows harder for Cara to breathe. 

As she finishes eating, Cara begins to notice Richard and Kahlan, across the table. Kahlan is casting meaningful looks at Richard, nudging him with her shoulder and looking for all the world like a mother coaxing her stubborn child. Cara feels watched, almost judged. Ordinarily, the opinions of the others would not concern her in the least, but today, Kahlan's gaze makes Cara's chest feel even tighter. 

Richard coughs, sharing a smile with Kahlan, and takes a breath as if to speak. Cara cannot stand this feeling a moment longer, the ache behind her ribs or the way that her eyes have suddenly begun to sting. She stands, abruptly, and leaves the table altogether. She does not want to hear Richard's condolences, nor Dahlia's goodbyes to he and Kahlan and Zedd. 

If Dahlia begins to cry, she does not think she will be able to watch. 

So she leaves the inn, walking to the stables at the back of the building, breathing in the familiar smells of horse and hard work and allowing them to ground her, clear her thoughts. She finds her horse - at least, the horse that she rode from Bridgewater - and strokes its nose, allowing it to sniff at her hair and nudge her for treats that she does not have. 

The stable is unfamiliar, but there are only so many places to put a tack room, and eventually Cara finds brushes and combs and sets to work on the horse's coat, cleaning out dead hair and dust from the road. She moves her hands in small, sure strokes, brushing until her arms are aching. Until Dahlia's face is no longer the first thing she sees when she closes her eyes, and fatigue begins to set in. She's half done, the left side of the horse's coat gleaming dully in the dim light from the stable doors, when she hears a cough behind her, and her name. 

Dahlia is standing at the stall door, looking slightly teary. 

"Dahlia," Cara replies, and suddenly all of the weakness she'd managed to put aside comes rushing back. Her throat grows tight, until it feels difficult to breathe. 

"You left," Dahlia says, quietly. Like this, subdued and clearly upset, she seems smaller. 

"Just because the four of you insist on wasting time, doesn't mean there aren't things to be done," she says, more sharply than she should. Rather than meet Dahlia's eyes, she brushes harder, bent so that her forehead almost touches the horse's flank. 

There's a sniff, the rustle of boots on straw, and then Dahlia is beside her, resting a hand on her arm. 

"Some of us have to leave soon," Cara says, and she does not glance up, but she can picture the hurt look on Dahlia's face well enough. She does not want to hurt Dahlia, not really, but Cara has never had much use for long goodbyes. 

"Cara," Dahlia says again, gently.

"What?" Cara says. She turns to face Dahlia, and nearly flinches away when she sees the tears running down her face, the way her lower lip is trembling. She speaks again, softer. "What more do you want from me?"

"Richard asked me to stay," Dahlia whispers. "Until Aydindril."

Dahlia's hand moves from Cara's arm to her shoulder, the back of her neck, tracing shapes at Cara's nape. "If you'll have me," she says, voice watery.

Dahlia's eyes are bright with tears, and so full of hope that Cara can hardly look at them. So she kisses Dahlia, slow and long, and somehow it makes things easier to bear, lessens the tightness in her throat. When she pulls away, one hand resting at Dahlia's jaw, her cheeks are damp. She's sure that the tears are Dahlia's, not her own. 

They rest that way, holding each other close and taking long, shuddering breaths, until Cara feels that she can speak. 

"Of course," she says, low and rough, and Dahlia's face breaks into a smile. "Of course I'll have you." 

"Alright," Dahlia says, threading her fingers through Cara's hair and tugging, like a promise. "Then I suppose I'll have to stay."


End file.
